***
The flash of white light faded. Leo stood once again on the sandy floor of the arena.
The same cracked walls. The same golden dust swirling in the air. But this time—double the enemies.
Ten goblins.
Six charged weapons-first at the center of the arena. Four hung back, slings already spinning above their heads.
Leo's eyes narrowed.
'Those four are going to be a problem.'
[00:00.00]
The goblins shrieked and charged. Leo broke into a sprint—not away, but around, hugging the outer wall of the arena, shield raised high.
Whip-CRACK! A sling stone slammed into his shield. The force rattled through his arm.
Another zipped past and grazed his calf. The sting was immediate.
'Get rid of the gunners first. Can't fight with rocks hitting me every three seconds.'
Leo dashed to the side, shield raised—whip-CRACK! A sling stone slammed into the front of his shield, nearly knocking it from his grip. Another zipped past his ear with a shrill whistle.
He kept moving. No cover. Nowhere to hide. He would have to outrun the chaos.
Two goblins reached him first. One jabbed with a rusty spear, the other hacked wildly with a chipped cleaver.
Leo parried the spear with his sword and bashed the cleaver-wielder with his shield, knocking it back. Then he drove his sword straight through the spear-goblin's chest.
The blade sank deep—but then Leo felt it. A wrongness in the hilt. A shift.
SNAP.
He stared in disbelief at the half-sword now in his hand.
"...Seriously?"
Another goblin roared, racing toward him with a jagged bone club.
Leo didn't hesitate—he whipped the broken blade like a throwing knife. It spun once and buried itself in the goblin's throat. The creature gargled and dropped without a sound.
Whip-crack! Another stone slammed into Leo's ribs. He staggered back, breath wheezing through his teeth.
"Alright. Now I'm pissed."
He tore a dagger from one of the dead goblins and charged straight into the fray. A club grazed his shoulder. He grit his teeth and slammed his shield into the attacker, then stabbed low into its stomach.
A second goblin slashed at his leg—he jumped back, barely in time, and countered with a hard shield bash to the face. The goblin crumpled.
But the slings kept firing.
A stone clipped his shin. Another bruised his thigh. One slammed into his left bicep and nearly made him drop the dagger.
"Dammit—!"
He lunged for another goblin, slashing across its chest before it could raise its weapon. The spray of black blood coated his arm.
Another blade nicked his back. Leo spun, caught the goblin's arm mid-swing, and snapped it at the elbow. The goblin howled. Leo drove the dagger into its mouth, silencing it.
Leo pushed forward, using the corpses as momentary cover against the slingers.
Whip! WHACK!
A stone smashed into his thigh. He grit his teeth and limped a step, still moving. Another hit the rim of his shield and ricocheted harmlessly.
Another melee goblin came barreling toward him. Leo stepped aside and brought his sword across its neck in a clean arc. It gurgled and collapsed.
Four down.
He was ten feet from the slingers now.
A goblin with yellow teeth and a bone charm around its neck fumbled with a rock.
The goblin screamed and launched a stone—Leo dodged just in time, then lunged at the shooter, grabbing its sling mid-spin and yanking it forward.
With his shield hand, he slammed into the goblin's face. Once. Twice. It stopped moving.
Three slingers left. Two melee.
Suddenly, a goblin with a club leapt onto his back.
Leo stumbled, nearly falling. The club smacked the side of his head. Stars bloomed in his vision.
He rammed his back into the nearest wall—CRACK. The goblin wheezed and loosened its grip. Leo reached over his shoulder and grabbed its scraggly hair, pulling it down and smashing his knee into its jaw.
Then again. And again.
Blood ran down his nose. His vision blurred.
Another tried to flank him. He pivoted, his shield catching the first blow, and drove forward with the dagger—into its throat.
WHIP—CRACK!
A stone hit his ribs. Leo gasped but didn't stop moving.
He ran straight at them.
The remaining slingers began to panic, their formations falling apart. One tried to run. Leo caught it by the neck and slammed it face-first into the sand.
Another launched a desperate shot. It hit his forearm and drew blood. Leo flinched—but retaliated immediately, bashing the goblin with his shield and then stabbing through its chest.
Only one left.
The goblin dropped its sling and squealed, falling to its knees.
Leo didn't hesitate. He kicked it in the face hard enough to flip it onto its back.
Then silence.
Leo stood there, chest heaving, bloodied and bruised, sweat dripping from his chin.
One arm throbbed. His ribs were screaming. His face had swollen from the club hit.
But he'd won.
[Congratulations, Challenger]
[You will now be transported back to your recovery room]
Above, the familiar digital fireworks exploded in sharp, colorful bursts across the false sky—pixel-perfect rockets in gold and crimson, raining down celebration over the blood-soaked sand.
Leo squinted up at them and muttered, "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the trauma."
***
Leo's return to the recovery room would've startled even the manliest of lumberjacks.
One moment, silence.
The next—WHUMP—a half-conscious, half-bloodied, mostly-alive body slammed face-first onto the floor like a sack of meat tossed off a truck.
"Uahhhhoh," Leo groaned from the depths of the tile. It wasn't a heroic groan. It was the sound of a man who had discovered exactly how many slingshot pebbles it takes to break a rib.
"Everything hurts," he muttered into the floor.
He tried to roll over. Bad idea. Pain lanced up his thigh like someone had threaded a hot wire through his femur. He stopped moving immediately.
'Yep. This is my new home now. The floor is kind. The floor understands me.'
He lay there for a while, cheek pressed against the cool ceramic, letting the pain slowly melt into that gray pre-dream numbness. Eventually, the tiles blurred out of focus, and Leo drifted into an all-too-familiar realm of blackout dreams—featuring highlights such as "Every Goblin I've Ever Killed, But They're Taller Now," and "An Endless Arena Full of Pebbles."
***
When he finally awoke—refreshed, healed, and only slightly traumatized—Leo groaned upright and stretched like a cat that had been hit by a cart.
Leo blinked away the last sharp edges of pain and shuffled toward the reward screen like a man navigating a maze he didn't want to be in.
[Rewards Available – Claim Now?]
He tapped [Yes], and instantly, a crisp, glowing digital menu materialized in front of him—clean lines, sharp icons, and menus that hovered effortlessly in the air. He couldn't physically touch anything yet; it was all light and code until he made a final selection.
The choices floated in neat rows:
[Equipment]
[Stat Points]
[Information]
[Lottery]
[Redeem Saved Rewards]
Leo's eyes flicked across each option. He knew the stat points could give him a steady boost, but his mind wasn't settled on numbers yet.
"I can always grab stat points later. I want to see what else they have first."
Curiosity nudged him toward [Information] next. Maybe some secret lore or a hint at what monsters awaited him. But the screen gave him nothing. Any questions Leo wanted to ask didn't seem worth risking his life in the next trial for.
The [Lottery] option flashed with gaudy colors and spinning wheels, promising random rewards and flashy surprises. Leo grimaced.
"Nope. Not in the mood to roll the dice today. I need control, not luck."
He slid away from the lottery like a kid walking past a candy store but not allowed to buy.
His gaze finally settled on [Equipment].
The weapons appeared, suspended like jewels on invisible pedestals. He scrolled through the offerings—each one rendered in exquisite digital detail but untouchable, just light and pixels.
A massive warhammer gleamed—heavy enough to crush a small boulder. "Too slow. I'm no tank."
Twin daggers, sharp and deadly, twirled before him. "Tempting, but too little range. No thanks."
A slender scimitar caught the light, fragile and elegant. "Beautiful, but I don't want something that'll snap on first impact."
Then came a spear with a leaf-shaped blade. "Good reach, but I can't wield it with a shield, if those rock throwers appear again, I'll be dead before I know it."
And then.
There it was.
A sword unlike anything Leo had ever seen in this glowing gallery.
The blade's Damascus steel shimmered with fluid, hypnotic waves of black and silver, almost alive in the digital light. The grip was wrapped in deep black leather, tight and inviting. The pommel gleamed with just enough weight to promise perfect balance.
For a long moment, Leo just stared.
Everything else around him blurred—the other weapons, the glowing room, even the echo of pain in his limbs faded away.
He was utterly speechless, like someone who had just locked eyes with their soulmate for the very first time.
"This... this is it."
His heart sped up in a way he hadn't expected.
The sword wasn't just a weapon—it was a promise. Precision. Power. Control.
He could almost feel the weight of it in his hand, the smoothness of the leather, the razor-sharp edge slicing through the air.
But he couldn't touch it. Not yet.
The digital menu blinked patiently, waiting for his decision.
Leo hesitated. Just for a breath.
Then, with a quiet but resolute tap, he locked in his choice.
At once, the sword materialized—solid and real—in his grasp. The cool leather grip molded perfectly to his palm. The blade gleamed with cold promise, whispering of countless battles to come.
Leo flexed his fingers, tested the balance, and gave it a tentative swing.
Whooosh
It sang through the air with a silky whisper—smooth, lethal, and undeniably his.
"From rusty pointy stick to top-tier sword," he muttered, a grin cracking through his beat up features. "Almost dying was worth it."
Leo stood in the center of the recovery room, his new sword held loosely in one hand. He raised it again and again, slicing through the air with measured, deliberate motions. Each swing sang with a metallic whisper, sharper and cleaner than anything his old weapon could've managed.
The blade was shorter than a standard longsword, with a curved edge and balanced grip. It reminded Leo of a Japanese wakizashi—a single-edged blade shorter than a katana, traditionally wielded in one hand.
It felt different.
Too different.
He could swing this blade much faster than the dull iron stick he'd been using before, and that speed… it threw him off. The timing of his strikes was all wrong. His old sword had demanded more effort, more momentum behind each cut. This one responded to the subtlest movement of his wrist.
"Okay... faster blade means I don't need to muscle through everything," he thought, furrowing his brow. "But if I don't adjust my strength, I'll be off-balance every time I swing. It's like trying to drive a sports car with the muscle memory of a lawnmower."
He narrowed his stance, pivoted his hips, and tried again. The next swing was smoother, more controlled. Then another. And another.
It would take time, but he was adapting.
Then something odd caught his eye.
The reward screen was still floating in the corner of the room.
Leo paused mid-swing, blinking. That wasn't supposed to happen. The past few times, the screen had disappeared immediately after his selection, dissolving into light once the reward materialized in his hand.
But this time?
Still there.
Still glowing.
Still waiting.
"Huh… did I break the system?" Leo muttered, lowering his blade and walking over.
The reward menu was unchanged, though the gleam of high-tier items had vanished. In their place were the usual low-grade options—rusty iron, splintered wood, cloth stitched with hope and nothing else. But Leo didn't mind.
He knew exactly what he needed.
With quick familiarity, Leo navigated to the [Equipment] section, then deeper into the [Armor] tab. He skimmed past dented plate mail, crude shoulder guards, and what looked like half-melted chainmail, until he found it.
Basic leather armor.
No flair. No embellishment. Just tough, dark-brown hide stitched into a flexible cuirass, worn-in gloves, and reinforced boots. The description said it was "sturdy, reliable, and silent."
Exactly what he needed.
Without hesitation, Leo redeemed it.
This time, the screen vanished with a quiet digital chime, fading into nothingness as his armor appeared in a neat stack at his feet.
He crouched down and began to suit up. The leather was stiff—especially the chest piece—but serviceable. The gloves were snug, the boots a bit too rigid, and the straps required some trial-and-error to fasten properly.
"Ugh. Feels like I'm wrapping myself in cardboard…" he muttered, adjusting the fit and tugging at the seams.
But as he tightened the final strap across his shoulder, he nodded to himself.
"This'll work. Not great yet, but it'll mold to me. I just need to wear it constantly, train in it, fight in it, sleep in it if I have to."
He twisted his torso slightly and winced as the stiff material resisted.
"Alright, maybe not sleep. But everything else? Absolutely."
This time, Leo used every second of the available rest and recovery period. His body still throbbed with bruises from the last trial—the dull, deep aches of half-healed trauma. His ribs protested when he moved too fast, and his arms were lined with welted reminders of sling-stone impacts.
He didn't waste time pretending he was fine.
Instead, he lay still at first, letting the mysterious forces of the recovery room do their silent work. He felt the healing seep into him like warmth rising from a hot bath, knitting muscles, dulling pain, mending what should have taken weeks to fix.
Once the pain dulled to a manageable hum, Leo began testing his range of motion in his new leather armor.
It creaked and groaned with every stretch. The stiff material fought against him, resistant and unforgiving, but he was determined to break it in. He ran drills—slow and precise at first, testing the armor's limitations. Lunges, slashes, parries. Each motion brought a clearer picture of how the new gear moved with (or against) his body.
The gloves were tight around the fingers but didn't hinder his grip. The boots were stiff at the ankle, but they'd likely soften in another fight or two. He made mental notes after each session: "Loosen the straps near the elbow. Break in the backplate with twists. Don't forget to stretch the thigh guards."
Leo didn't just train—he studied. Every movement was calculated, intentional. Every inch of discomfort was logged and tested against repetition.
By the final few hours, he could move without flinching, the armor beginning to obey rather than resist. It still felt foreign, but not hostile.
"I can work with this."
As the countdown to the next trial approached, Leo slipped into the rhythm. He stretched methodically, bouncing slightly to stay warm, then took a long, slow breath to center himself. Eyes closed. Mind clear.
No panic.
No hesitation.
Just a heartbeat of calm before war.
Then the now-familiar voice chimed in:
[Trial 05: Begin?]
Leo stepped toward the door and pressed [Yes] without another thought.
A white light overtook his vision, blank and absolute.
When the light cleared, Leo found himself in the now-familiar arena: the same cracked stone walls, the scuffed sand underfoot, and the distant blue sky too perfect to be real.
He rotated his shoulders, shield in one hand, sword in the other, feeling the weight and pull of his equipment. Then he squinted across the field, eyes searching for movement.
'Alright. Fifth trial. Based on the last two, I'm guessing… fifteen goblins? Twenty?'
His fingers tensed on the hilt.
But the arena was silent.
Still.
And then—he saw it.
Just one opponent.
Sitting in the center of the arena like a lazy puddle, was a blue, jiggling blob.
'...A slime?'
It quivered gently, glistening in the sun, its semi-transparent body revealing a glowing blue core nestled near what could generously be called its center. No weapons, no snarling teeth, no strategy. Just a blob.
Leo blinked.
Hard.
He half-expected a swarm of goblins to erupt from the sand around it like a cruel joke.
But nothing came.
'Wait… really? After ten goblins pelting me with rocks and biting my arms, you give me this?'
He took a slow step forward, sword slightly lowered.
'Did the difficulty just drop off a cliff? Is this one a free pass?'
The slime gave no response—just jiggled in place, occasionally bouncing like it was breathing.
"Blurb."
The noise echoed across the arena like a rubber duck slipping into a bathtub. Leo froze mid-step.
"…What."
Across the sand, the little blue slime jiggled cheerfully. It looked like someone had made a water balloon out of jello and pure optimism. It sat there, glistening, a tiny transparent blob with a pulsing blue core floating happily inside its goopy center.
[00:00.10]
The familiar countdown blinked into existence above the arena, its soft chime entirely at odds with the deadly tension Leo was used to.
Leo tilted his head.
"As in… is this it?"
[00:00.07]
"Is it gonna hit me in the feelings? Is that the challenge here?"
[00:00.05]
"Make me fight something cute and harmless so I cry and reevaluate my life?"
[00:00.02]
"…Bold strategy."
[00:00.00]
The slime wiggled.
Leo lowered his sword and casually began walking toward it, grinning despite himself.
"Come here, little buddy. Aren't you just adorable. Aw, look at you."
The slime wobbled happily at his approach, then suddenly paused. It made a strange sound.
"Grrrmmp."
Leo stopped.
"…Oh? What's this? Do you have to burp? Go on, little guy, let it out."
The slime inflated slightly. Then heaved.
Then projectile vomited acid like a biological super soaker.
"WHOA—!"
Leo raised his shield by pure instinct—and splaaaaasshhhhh—the green, bubbling goop slammed into the metal with a hissing, sizzling sound like bacon dropped into lava.
It clung.
It burned.
Leo peeked out from behind the shield, already chuckling. "Okay, note to self: do not feed the slime burritos. That was—"
He lifted the shield to inspect it, ready to brag about his perfect block—
Except the top half of the shield was… gone.
Not dented. Not scratched. Gone.
Vaporized.
Leo blinked slowly.
He tilted the shield sideways. Goo dripped off the bottom edge like icing off a ruined cake.
"…Oh."
His eyes widened in horror.
"Oh no."
He turned the shield upside-down. The goo had eaten a perfect half-moon right off the top.
There was a long pause.
Then:
"BLURB."
The slime jiggled innocently as if it had done nothing wrong.